


For Better or Worse

by GrumpyQueer



Series: Ficlets [2]
Category: Ripper Street
Genre: F/M, Forgiveness, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyQueer/pseuds/GrumpyQueer
Summary: Susan grieves the love of her life. But there is hope, yet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a missing scene at the end of S2. I also edited the events slightly to have Susan be the one who actually stabbed Duggan.

Susan Hart wanted none of any man, nor did she  _ need _ any man. But  _ that _ man… him?

It had only been a few hours since she had ferociously slapped his hand away from her arm, a few hours since they had both watched Silas Duggan take his last, heaving breath, the life bleeding out of him as he slumped in his chair with the cold knife firmly driven into his chest. 

Surprising herself, yet again, she had instinctively known where best to inflict the fatal wound, how to ensure Duggan’s black, quivering heart would not thump, nor control her, a single second more. Of course, the dead man deserved no sympathy or remorse whatsoever, but after the act – the transaction, as it were – she found herself back in her suite at Tenter Street, sobbing herself to sleep over the only  _ true  _ grief she felt on this night.    


Thus far, nothing in her life had been quite as painful as pushing away a man that she still loved. But Jackson’s recent terrible behaviour and fairy-tale idealism was, she knew, what she needed to distance herself from at this time. She needed space to freely dwell without worrying which one of her business interests he would gamble away at any moment behind her back, the hard work which she had paid for with her own sweat being used as his currency, and without her consent. 

Unable to stop herself from weeping at the pain in her chest, however, she was forced to face the reality that their love was no light switch, and that, despite his betrayal, she still knew him to be a man of purer intent, a man of folly – yes, certainly – but a man who, when the penny dropped, would fight to do the right thing and forever and fiercely protect her and be by her side.   


Even after everything he had put her through in those recent months, she was still unable to extinguish the curl of a smile as she thought of him in all his gun-slinging, yahooing, childish ways. His greasy, scarcely combed hair which parted at his fringe, his giant gap-toothed grin and the way he rolled his shoulders as he walked, puffing his chest out and trying to stand tall, rearing and ready to cause a ruckus whenever an opportunity arose. For such an educated, medical man, he was so often an idiot! But he was  _ her _ idiot. He was so many contradictions bound into one, and rather like their love, it was okay that things sometimes didn’t make perfect sense.

Of course, knowing that he had tried desperately to rectify his mistakes, made her decision far more painful. She saw the remorse in his eyes every time he looked upon her, knowing what his naivety had brought her to and had viciously robbed her of. She felt his authenticity, and knew that he carried his shame heavily upon his shoulders. He was sincere, and that she did not doubt, though, she feared now that every time she saw him, she would also see Duggan and everything he had forced upon her: every slimy, sleazy manipulation he had so carefully crafted, treating her as nothing more than a pretty trinket he wished to call his own.

No, she  _ had  _ done the right thing on this night, and this she knew. But the fact remained: her heart would continue to ache for him, and his heart would ache for her, too. So when the sleep would still not come, she entertained the thought of slipping out from Tenter Street and heading to where she presumed he must now be resting his head. She thought of rushing over to Reid’s house in nothing but her night gown, of waking them both up from their sleep, banging on the door, not to tell him that she forgave him – no, she would not lie nor indulge in such self-deceit – but to tell him that she had faith in him to become a better man, and that her love for him had not been switched off…  _ could not _ be switched off. She wanted to tell him that her decision to turn him away was born out of her undying hope for their longevity, their eventual reunion in years to come when she believed she would be able to forgive him, to open her arms and heart afresh and welcome back into her life the only man she loved.

Letting herself fall back and sink down onto the pillow, she closed her weary eyes and decided to simply let go, but to, most importantly, permit herself to feel what she needed to feel. She would not shun, nor punish herself for loving a less than perfect man. She would love and care for herself now, first and foremost, but she would  _ also _ allow herself to love Homer Jackson, for better or worse, ever full of faith for the man she knew he could be... the man he was.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
